


black, purple, red

by agletbaby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 3 Things, Canon Compliant, Gen, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agletbaby/pseuds/agletbaby
Summary: Every volleyball uniform Oikawa has ever played in is a shade of blue. That leaves a lot of colours unworn.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Miya Atsumu & Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru & Semi Eita
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83





	black, purple, red

**iii. Black**

The package arrives at Oikawa’s San Juan apartment in mid-October, with a big airmail stamp on it in Japanese. He puts it on his counter and stares at it for a bit. He hasn’t ordered anything, it’s months too late for his birthday, and all his friends and family are too aware of shipping costs to send him something for the sake of it. He tilts his head. Considers the unfamiliar familiarity of Japanese. It is, quite simply, a mystery, even if it only stays that way for the couple of minutes he politely waits before he remembers that he is an adult and he has no reason not to go ahead.

On top is a note. _Dear Oikawa-san,_ it begins. An auspicious start. _I brought everyone souvenirs from Brazil, but it seemed kind of pointless getting one for you, because you could have got it yourself! So I figured I’d get you something from Japan, seeing as that’s now abroad for you! Lol!_ Oikawa scans ahead to the signature, and confirms the package is, indeed, from Hinata. Involuntarily, his whole face scrunches up into some kind of expression that makes him really glad he’s alone: he’s genuinely touched, happy. Is Hinata the best person he’s ever met? He’s definitely up there, even if the fact he's handwritten 'lol' docks him a few points.

 _I sent you this so you have something to wear when you watch me beat Kageyama in my first game! It’s in November and you better be rooting for Black Jackals! No favouritism just because you used to be on the same team as him._ As if. And anyway, in one week Oikawa probably spent more time on court with Hinata than he did in a year with Kageyama, so Hinata definitely has full advantage of any teammate bias. It was much more fun with him, too.

 _I’m wearing number 21 this season, but they aren’t selling jerseys with my number on yet, because no one knows who I am!_ (Only Hinata would punctuate that statement with an exclamation mark.) _So I’ve sent you our setter’s instead. Hope you like it! Let me know when this reached you!_ And then, after his name, Hinata’s drawn some blobs, which could be volleyballs, or suns, or smiley faces.

Underneath the note is a black volleyball shirt struck through with gold, still shiny and fresh in its plastic wrap, with a big number 13 on the back.

Oikawa has always gravitated to 13. Hinata can’t know this, and neither can whatever MSBY Black Jackals guy decided to stick Miya Atsumu in that number, but it sort of feels like they’re conspiring against him. At the moment he wears 17 for CA San Juan, because that’s what he was given, but if he were to casually imagine himself in a different universe – say, one where he's the starting setter for a V.League team – he’d be wearing 13. When he pulls on the shirt Hinata sent him, in honour of his debut match, something in Oikawa’s chest tumbles.

He doesn’t watch the match live, because there’s a twelve hour time difference, so it takes place in the very middle of his night. He's stuck behind them, now. The next day, though, he posts a selfie that cuts off a bit below his shoulder (enough to see it’s clearly a Jackals uniform, not enough to see the number) on his Instagram Story. He tags Hinata and adds the caption _catch up time! supporting my beach buddy!_ , before closing the app, starting the game, and focusing.

The fact Hinata’s debut is against the double whammy of Kageyama and Ushijima is an unfortunate coincidence, and one he’s determined to make the most of. He will watch their movements closely, as befits national level competition, and he will cheer obnoxiously whenever they mess up, as befits universe level moral enemies. Them being teammates is an old, half-joked fear of Oikawa's, and he's happy to finally have a team – or at least a player – to really support against them.

It’s not a very good stream, occasionally stuttering and blurry, but it’s good enough to see that Hinata is as eye-catching as always. And Oikawa, with his setter eyes and hands and heart, doesn’t need it to be high quality to sense how the air crackles between Miya and Kageyama when the former sets to Hinata, and the latter doesn’t. They’re stuck in a stand-off, competing but also united: the only two people in the whole of Japan who know the joy of sending Hinata Shōyō a perfect ball.

Except, Oikawa thinks smugly, I know it too. I’m just not there.

Miya is also eye-catching, and that annoys Oikawa, because he really doesn’t want to be impressed. He wants to be able to say, I’m undoubtedly better than you, I’m doing you a favour by wearing your jersey, I could swoop in anytime, steal your spot and set for Shouyou, if I wanted. Which I don’t. But I could. But he can’t, can’t say any of that, because Miya is as good as you’d expect a V.League setter to be, and if Oikawa is disappointed, then he’s not surprised.

There’s this big what if, which mostly sits quietly in Oikawa’s stomach, but comes out for special occasions, and it mostly asks, what if I stayed? When Oikawa’s accidentally let his guard down or purposefully self-sabotaged (today it’s that one) and it emerges, it’s immediately followed by: would I have made it? could I have done that? should I have tried?

Watching Miya doesn’t answer any of those questions, but it does make Oikawa wish he wasn’t wearing his number.

  
  
**ii. Purple**

Towards the end of his second year of high school (so, after they’ve done all the winning they’re going to do for the year, neatly signed off with twin losses), Oikawa signs up for a high school setters training day in Tokyo. It’s not a camp or anything, he hasn’t been picked for it, but it’s a good opportunity, and he spends the week leading up to it annoying everyone in anticipation.

When he arrives, his good mood means he is especially charming towards the lady signing him in, even before he spots the Japan Volleyball Association logo on the lanyard around her neck. It's never too early – in the day, in his career – to start networking. They exchange mutual how are yous, a few light pleasantries, that kind of thing, until she asks, “Where are you here from, today?”

“Miyagi,” Oikawa tells her with a smile. “I took the Shinkansen up this morning – it was an early start for me!”

Her response is unexpected. “Oh!” she says. “I thought so. I just signed your teammate in – he’s over there.”

Oikawa frowns at her first, because he's on his own. If Yahaba were here, he’d know it. Then he frowns down at himself, because he’s not wearing anything that would link him back to Aoba Johsai. He has a lot of sports stuff, but he always ends up in the same white and turquoise school kit, so before he went to bed last night he’d taken no small amount of joy in picking out something different. This is almost his first time wearing this particular top, a present from his aunt, which is a nice shade of plum– 

Then, he frowns towards the aforementioned _over there_ , putting Miyagi and purple together with a growing sense of dread. Yep. The world hates him. He immediately clarifies that they are not teammates, and returns to bright chatter as best he can. And finally, because he refuses to not start the day with the upper hand, Oikawa stalks over to bother Semi Eita. 

Semi is standing alone, eyes on his phone (ugh, probably texting Ushiwaka – Oikawa resolves to give him something to type home about), and he’s wearing a stupid Shiratorizawa jacket because he clearly can’t go a single day without letting everyone know he goes to a powerhouse school. Like, we get it.

“Semi-kun,” Oikawa starts, with all the deliberate charm of earlier, and none of the good mood. He has nothing against Semi, personally, except for the fact that he was starting setter for both of Oikawa’s losses this year, losses which Oikawa is, in fact, taking personally. They played in middle school too, in second year, and Kitagawa Daiichi won, so there. Only, in their third year, Semi’s team lost to Shiratorizawa, and Oikawa supposes that must have made a bigger impression. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Oh!” says Semi, nicely. He perks up, in fact, like he’s glad to see someone he knows. Oikawa cannot relate. “Hi, Oikawa. It’s been a while.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes: it hasn’t been a while, is the thing. It’s only been a month since the Spring Interhigh Qualifiers, and for Oikawa, that match still sits on him like a backpack: hefty, uncool, and worn everyday. So either Semi’s talking about the last time they spoke properly (never), or he’s joking (badly), or he’s trying to get Oikawa to ignore the metaphorical net which slices the air between them, winner on one side, loser on the other. Oikawa likes that option the least, but he’s also not going to bring up their relative positions, not until they’ve switched sides.

“So it has,” he says instead, and then adopts a tone so flowery someone could smell it. “I came over after the lady signing me in pointed you out. She thought we were on the same team. Isn’t that ridiculous? As if only Shiratorizawa can wear purple!”

“Hm,” Semi screws up his face mock thoughtfully, and then holds out an arm, to compare his jacket to Oikawa’s t-shirt. He’s actually enjoying this, like he and Oikawa are sharing a joke. “It is kind of the same shade, though. Guess that means we’ll have to be teammates for the day.”

Oikawa gives him a sceptical look, and Semi laughs, only little awkwardly. He’d always given Oikawa the impression of being somewhat up-tight and serious on court, but he seems cheerful enough now. Shame, because Oikawa refuses to be cheerful back, at least for real. 

“Sorry,” he says, fixing his face into something more typical and fake. “But I’m actually here today to make new acquaintances, not catch up with old ones. So now I’ve said hello, I’ll be off. Toodle-oo!”

Semi finally looks put out at that, like he's just recognised that Oikawa's being rude, but he doesn’t say anything except “See you,” after Oikawa has already dramatically turned on his heel and walked off. Oikawa heads back towards the entrance, because he doesn’t know where else to go, and eventually ends up at the changing rooms, where he fiddles with his shoe and doesn’t talk to anyone. By the time he gets back, the training day is starting, and he can relax into knowing the game.

Semi comes and sits next to him at lunch, sliding his tray onto the empty space on the table besides Oikawa’s. Oikawa has spent the morning glad-handing various other setters, trying to be as impressive as he can on and off court, but somehow he ended up at the front of the queue for food, which means he’s alone and frustratingly defenceless against Semi now.

If he were in Semi’s position, he would make some snide comment about the fact.

“Hey,” says Semi. “This morning was tough, huh? I thought our practices were bad, but that was so much worse.”

Something about that chimes, or doesn’t, with Oikawa and so, with only a hint of the smarmy inflection he’d been preparing, he replies. “What’s the point of an opportunity like this if you don’t push yourself to get the most out of it?”

“Alright, Oikawa, we already knew you were more ambitious than me,” Semi says, half smiling. “I’m mostly just here because it looks like my position will be under threat next year, and I don’t want to go out without a fight. Not to that snot.”

He pulls a face at that, and Oikawa sniggers, before a thought occurs to him. “Is Kageyama going to Shiratorizawa?” he asks, and suddenly there’s actual horror in his voice. Well, it’s a nasty thought, Kageyama and Ushijima rising from the court, blank-faced and teamed-up to destroy him together.

“I have no idea who that is,” Semi replies.

Oh, okay then. That particular nightmare can go back on the shelf for the moment. “Lucky you,” Oikawa tells him, and then the need for gossip kicks in. He’s willing to put up with Semi for Shiratorizawa insider info. Maybe he’ll even be nice. “Who’s your challenger, then?”

Despite his obvious annoyance from, like, five seconds earlier, Semi seems calm enough now. Respect for his team wins out. “A first year named Shirabu Kenjirō–”

“Never heard of him.”

“Yeah, me neither. And it wouldn’t matter if you had, because he already plays completely differently to the way he did at the beginning of the year. It’s like, he saw what Shiratorizawa needed as a setter, and he’s just spent the last ten months becoming that.” Semi shrugs, but his eyebrows pull in towards his nose and betray him; Oikawa can see he’s not exactly comfortable with it. Then he looks up at Oikawa, as though he’s surprised to see him there. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you, of all people, this. Fraternising with the enemy.”

“I thought we were teammates for the day, Semi-kun!” Oikawa says, mock-offended, pressing his hand to his chest. “And anyway, I always look out for my fellow setters.”

This is one of the most egregious lies Oikawa’s told in a while, but Semi doesn’t know him very well, so he accepts it. “A setter-to-setter heart-to-heart,” he says, with a laugh, which is handy because Oikawa wouldn’t have known it was supposed to be funny otherwise. “You know, Oikawa, I was watching you today, and I think we play pretty similarly. We both try to show off and be clever.”

“I’ll have you know I don’t just try, I succeed,” Oikawa tells him. “In both being clever and showing off. I'm very good at what I do.”

Semi says, mostly to himself, “Try convincing Washijō that that's enough,” but then he straightens, looking largely cheerful, and waves it off. “What’s your next year going to be like? Any kohai trying to take your spot?”

“Ah,” says Oikawa. “No, I don’t think so. I’m going to be captain.”

“Oh, congratulations!” says Semi, and he really seems to mean it, too. “Good thing you’re not actually my team, huh?” He jabs an elbow at Oikawa’s chest, the purple t shirt. “Wakatoshi’s our next captain, obviously.”

Oikawa instantly thinks, why obviously?, which is probably why it’s good that he and Semi aren’t teammates.

**i. Red**

Technically, this uniform is a gift too, but it’s not a surprise to receive it. When Oikawa unwraps the Japan men’s national volleyball team kit (red against his hands, against the world at large), it is at the end of months of wheedling, pleading and – although he’s very embarrassed about the fact – even some begging. It’s a gift only because he’s ten, and doesn’t have the trivial things which he apparently needs to get it himself, like _money_ or _permission to go to a big sports shop in Tokyo where they sell these things_. Otherwise he’d have bought it himself. The kit is Oikawa’s, in every way, from how much he wanted it, to its permanent home on a hanger in his bedroom. When he’s not wearing it, that is.

And he wears it all the time. He drags Iwaizumi to the park even more often than usual, and pretends to be Daisuke Usami or Koji Handa, spiking across an invisible net at Iwaizumi, who is always whatever villainous opponent Oikawa has decided are his biggest rivals today: Poland, or Italy, or Brazil. Iwaizumi scowls the whole time, and points out that they all beat Japan in the World League last year.

“Well, Japan won’t lose when I play for them,” Oikawa tells him one day, standing proudly with his hands on his hips, scrunched into the fancy fabric of his shirt.

“ _If_ you play for them,” Iwaizumi responds, and it would be pointed if he didn’t sound so sulky. Oikawa splutters, sticks his tongue out, and Iwaizumi throws the ball at his face. It’s light, but Oikawa still dramatically falls to the ground, swooning dirt all over his nice new uniform.

“This is your fault, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, when he stands back up and tries to brush himself off. “If I never play for Japan, it’ll be because of you. You’ve cursed me.”

“That’s stupid,” Iwaizumi tells him, with the defensiveness of someone who’s worried it might not be. “I thought you liked Argentina, anyway. Their setter.”

“Yeah, but I’m Japanese!” Oikawa says wide-eyed and incredulous at Iwaizumi’s denseness. “So I have to play for Japan. Duh, Iwa-chan!”

“Why, though? Are there rules about it?” Iwaizumi kicks some dirt off the ground, and Oikawa flinches away from it, as if the damage isn’t already done, the red stained a dusty brown.

“Um. Probably? There’s lots of rules in volleyball, Iwa-chan, it’s not my fault you’re too dumb to remember them!”

“Shut up!” Iwaizumi aims a much more deliberate kick at Oikawa, one he can’t dodge. “Those rules are stupid too, then. Japan is boring, I don’t want to stay here forever.”

Oikawa nods at that. Right now, to him, Japan is basically just his and Iwaizumi’s houses, their school, and the park, which doesn’t even have a real volleyball net. He wouldn’t mind going somewhere else. Somewhere they can practice properly, all day. “Yeah,” he agrees. And then, suddenly restless, “I’ll race you! Last one home is stuck in Japan!”

There’s a cat sat in the road halfway along the route, though, and they get mutually distracted trying to pet it, race forgotten, wager left in the dirt behind them. When he gets home, Oikawa’s top goes straight into the wash, and emerges bright again. He wears it for another year, until he hits a growth spurt, and any misery about having to leave it behind is buried under glee at finally being taller than Iwaizumi.

He keeps it, though. Every year or two, his mother will try and get him to clear out his things, and the far-too-small, way-out-of-date uniform is regularly at the top of the pile she suggests. Oikawa always demurs, putting it back onto the cupboard shelf where he keeps old things. And eventually, she gives up, and the uniform stays in his childhood bedroom, even after Oikawa has left, even after he becomes the opponent he always made Iwaizumi pretend to be. It gathers dust more slowly than it ever did in the park, but far more surely too.

**Author's Note:**

>  **semi:** i did it! i managed to get some dirt on seijou from oikawa! told you i'd manage it  
>  **tendou:** ???? spill the beans  
>  **semi:** he's going to be captain next year!  
>  **tendou:** oh, duh  
>  **yamagata:** yeah, that's not news semi  
>  **semi:** really? :(  
>  **ohira:** sorry, but yes  
>  **ushijima:** i had assumed that oikawa would be the captain.  
>  **semi:** that's all i got :(  
>  **tendou:** you better not have told him any of our secrets, semisemi  
>  **semi:** ...


End file.
